Notes from an annoyed 22 year old.
Discussion
Notes from an annoyed 22 year old.
Poles lead to broken wing mirrors
Immigration this, people leaving that, is all we seem to hear about these days
Now I am lucky enough to work both in an office with IT and on a site labouring so get to see the depth of work currently being carried out within the UK as a whole.
Poland, is a nice enough place if you like rocks, and various animal testicles in your soup, but not so good if you like home comforts and alittle wonga in your wallet.
So when they where offered to join the EU it was no real surprise that a few chaps decided to pop over in sight of the ‘English Dream’ (doing sweet FA, and claiming income)
Being well thought out and well estimanted as our government was, it took a ‘guesstimation’ on the amount of Poles that would make the trip to good old blighty.
250,000 seemed a nice round low figure.
Shame it was nowhere near realistic.
So when 3 odd million Poles started floating around in the UK someone the government realised there might have been a small boob (probably a 36FF but whos counting)
(This was luckily rectified when Romania decided to join the EU, it could only let 3 ‘good women’ a dancing bloke and a cripple in.)
The amount of Poles began looking for income, cleaning windows, labouring and warehouse working etc, but this brought forward a new problem.
The English workers where now being shown up!
The Poles arrived early, starting @ 8.00am, (not arriving at 8.00am, starting at 8.30am) worked until lunchtime, occasionally stopping for a quick drink (not stopping at 10.00am for 45mins to have a natter about who took 15-1, or who bought an MX5).
The Poles would then have a quick light bite to eat before working flat out until 5.00pm then packing up to go home (not having a 1 hour liquid lunch, followed by sandwiches after lunch, then working till 3, having a 30 min chat about where the oxo tower is, followed by working until 4.30, only to switch off, pack up and clock watch for 15 mins).
Now of course the Poles where beginning to get a reputation of hard workers, and beginning to be found preferable to the standard English ‘worker’.
Jobs where suddenly becoming harder to find, and with typical gusto ‘Englishman’ gave up after not finding a job after, ooh about 2 minutes.
Luckily for Englishman, the government had a fine backup plan.
Give him money.
Now wait, before you roll your eyes, as this is actually quite cunning.
You see give him job seekers allowance, and he’ll buy a nice clean suite to look nice for his interview.
And of course while he’s at all these interviews he’s not earning an income, therefore we better give him a comfy amount of money to get by on.
And if the worst comes and he cannot afford his mortgage we’ll give him a nice house so the poor kiddies don’t get cold.
There was however one bit of sand in this Vaseline.
No-one bothered to be a bit sceptical of Englishmans effort, and left him to his own devices.
So instead of buying a suite, he bought stella.
And after a few stellas and nothing better to do, he wants to ‘play hide the sausage’ with his wife/gf/local bike/local school kid...
By doing this and creating a little sprog (how come all the wasters are always so fertile??..) and therefore Englishman has now stumbled across another moment of brilliance.
He gets paid for every kid he has!
Eureka!
Now he has an excuse to clamber onto his missus every Friday night, as everytime he does, he gets more money!
And with no need to work longer than his 3 minute workout.
This is the English dream.
However with all these sprogs, and busses being as useful as a turd floating on a river, he needs something to transport the family from hell, to the nearest Tesco’s, to run riot.
So he looks at all the largest cheapest barges he can find, and buys a Chrysler Voyager.
This mammouth ferry is approximately 1.5 times too big for the typical English B road (made for the yanks, and what do they care for size), which means when one is approaching you, its actually crossing the white line, with its wingmirror.
Which hits mine.
So you see, thanks to the Poles, my wingmirror is broken.
And where do I claim?
well i would claim, if it where not tea break time....
Poles lead to broken wing mirrors
Immigration this, people leaving that, is all we seem to hear about these days
Now I am lucky enough to work both in an office with IT and on a site labouring so get to see the depth of work currently being carried out within the UK as a whole.
Poland, is a nice enough place if you like rocks, and various animal testicles in your soup, but not so good if you like home comforts and alittle wonga in your wallet.
So when they where offered to join the EU it was no real surprise that a few chaps decided to pop over in sight of the ‘English Dream’ (doing sweet FA, and claiming income)
Being well thought out and well estimanted as our government was, it took a ‘guesstimation’ on the amount of Poles that would make the trip to good old blighty.
250,000 seemed a nice round low figure.
Shame it was nowhere near realistic.
So when 3 odd million Poles started floating around in the UK someone the government realised there might have been a small boob (probably a 36FF but whos counting)
(This was luckily rectified when Romania decided to join the EU, it could only let 3 ‘good women’ a dancing bloke and a cripple in.)
The amount of Poles began looking for income, cleaning windows, labouring and warehouse working etc, but this brought forward a new problem.
The English workers where now being shown up!
The Poles arrived early, starting @ 8.00am, (not arriving at 8.00am, starting at 8.30am) worked until lunchtime, occasionally stopping for a quick drink (not stopping at 10.00am for 45mins to have a natter about who took 15-1, or who bought an MX5).
The Poles would then have a quick light bite to eat before working flat out until 5.00pm then packing up to go home (not having a 1 hour liquid lunch, followed by sandwiches after lunch, then working till 3, having a 30 min chat about where the oxo tower is, followed by working until 4.30, only to switch off, pack up and clock watch for 15 mins).
Now of course the Poles where beginning to get a reputation of hard workers, and beginning to be found preferable to the standard English ‘worker’.
Jobs where suddenly becoming harder to find, and with typical gusto ‘Englishman’ gave up after not finding a job after, ooh about 2 minutes.
Luckily for Englishman, the government had a fine backup plan.
Give him money.
Now wait, before you roll your eyes, as this is actually quite cunning.
You see give him job seekers allowance, and he’ll buy a nice clean suite to look nice for his interview.
And of course while he’s at all these interviews he’s not earning an income, therefore we better give him a comfy amount of money to get by on.
And if the worst comes and he cannot afford his mortgage we’ll give him a nice house so the poor kiddies don’t get cold.
There was however one bit of sand in this Vaseline.
No-one bothered to be a bit sceptical of Englishmans effort, and left him to his own devices.
So instead of buying a suite, he bought stella.
And after a few stellas and nothing better to do, he wants to ‘play hide the sausage’ with his wife/gf/local bike/local school kid...
By doing this and creating a little sprog (how come all the wasters are always so fertile??..) and therefore Englishman has now stumbled across another moment of brilliance.
He gets paid for every kid he has!
Eureka!
Now he has an excuse to clamber onto his missus every Friday night, as everytime he does, he gets more money!
And with no need to work longer than his 3 minute workout.
This is the English dream.
However with all these sprogs, and busses being as useful as a turd floating on a river, he needs something to transport the family from hell, to the nearest Tesco’s, to run riot.
So he looks at all the largest cheapest barges he can find, and buys a Chrysler Voyager.
This mammouth ferry is approximately 1.5 times too big for the typical English B road (made for the yanks, and what do they care for size), which means when one is approaching you, its actually crossing the white line, with its wingmirror.
Which hits mine.
So you see, thanks to the Poles, my wingmirror is broken.
And where do I claim?
well i would claim, if it where not tea break time....
didn't have time for a proper check 
mybrainhurts said:
A titillating few minutes absorbing that amusing anecdote...very good 
However, one really ought to seek out the difference between where and were...
Perhaps perusal of a dictionary, whilst rectification of the wing mirror is under way, might remedy the problem...?
Toodle pip...
will never live that down will I However, one really ought to seek out the difference between where and were...
Perhaps perusal of a dictionary, whilst rectification of the wing mirror is under way, might remedy the problem...?
Toodle pip...
havoc said:
Superb...tabloid editorial quality at least (i.e. lower-end professional, rather than just 'gifted amateur).
Can you do it again tomorrow?!?
can try.Can you do it again tomorrow?!?
flattered you think its low end pro stuff chap, but is a Batty original.
have the word doc to prove it
as does the bad spelling
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